The Looney Tunes Murders
by TheSmartAlec
Summary: COMPLETE! A seven or eight chapter murder tale involving the Looney Tunes. I had alot of fun writing it. Rated T and for language, strong violence, and a little adult content, so be warned.
1. The Bunny

**A/N: Well, this is my first REAL writing. I hope you enjoy, it's a murder mystery series that I plan on continuing on for about 7 or 8 more chapters, even if the reviews suck. Which reminds me, PLEASE REVIEW!**

Name: Bugs Bunny

Date of Death: September 7, 1945

Weapon of Choice: Pistol

I got the call for the hit unexpectedly, just a couple hours after I had taken care of some Disney character. I didn't know who he was, and to be honest, I really didn't care. I didn't go to the movies, or read the paper very much either. I was just a hitman, and nothing more.

I got some important instructions from the guy who put the hit out. He must've had something wrong with him, he had this stutter that made me wish he was here right now so I could shoot him in the face. "I w-w-want you to make it very clean." the guy said. "I know the g-g-guy myself, very depressed. Make it l-l-look like a suicide." When I got off of the phone with him, I went down to the basement and decided what I should use on the bunny. I was looking at my collection of Revolvers, but if this guy was the scum that I thought he was, he didn't deserve it. My philosophy is that the gun should fit the victim's personality. And according to the pig, the bunny was cold, depressed, and quick to anger. That sounded like a Walther to me, specifically a Walther P38 that I had gotten in Germany just when the war was beginning. I opened one of my cabinets and pulled the gun out. Yes, this was perfect.

I drove down to the studio, where Bugs was supposedly doing some rewrites for a cartoon he was directing. I walked past the entrance without any conflict: the security guard was either drunk or incredibly stupid. He didn't even seem to notice. When I got out of sight of him, I pulled out a piece of paper I had scribbled on during the phone conversation: "SOUNDSTAGE 4 - WRITER'S OFFICE". I walked around for what seemed like 20 minutes until I hit Soundstage 4, a depressing grey and blue building that looked like it hadn't had a decent paint job in years. I went through the door, which was surprisingly unlocked. Good job, security.

The soundstage was filled with spotlight, a Panavision camera, and a colorful background that looked like it was obviously taking advantage that new color technology. On the right, near the background was a series of door's, each having gold printing on it. I went down the series of doors, which read "Director's Office", "Dressing Room - Mr. Bunny" and "Dressing Room - Mr. Duck" respectively until I hit one that read "Writer's Office".I took out my gun and I was about to burst in when a moan that made my ears shiver.

A woman? This Bugs was with a woman? Why wasn't I told about this?

I shrugged to myself, and I kicked open the door. There was the bastard, pants below his ankles, romancing some hussy duck in a polka-dot cocktail dress. I took a millisecond to take this in, then I raised my gun. Bugs didn't even have anytime to react. I pulled the trigger and the bullet hit square in the side of the temple. Perfect shot, staged just like a suicide. Bugs fell of the desk he was being supported on and fell to his hardwood floor. The duck screamed a shrill scream, one that I had to close my eyes to block out. "_You killed him! Ohmigod_!" she shrieked. Then, I opened my eyes. "_**SHUT UP**_!" I yelled equally as loud, and I shot her twice, both times in the chest. She toppled back into a couple plants, the back of her head colliding with a poster for a cartoon the bunny had hung up. She slid down the wall, blood trailing. I put my gun into Bugs's limp hands. I figured I could get by with a murder-suicide. I walked back to my car, the security guard sound asleep. I threw my gloves into a sewer opening on the way, and I drove away.

I could've been cliche and said "That's All Folks!" to myself on the drive, but I didn't.

That wasn't me.

**A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. The Dog

**A/N: I will be taking reviews for the rest of the murders! It isn't just Looney Tunes anymore! More details below.**

Name: Goofy

Date of Death: September 13, 1945

Weapon: Knife

The news of the bunny's death shocked the nation, of course. Funerals were held, tears were shed, all within a six day span. I must say, I could not have been more proud of myself. Every time I turned all the radio during those six days and heard a memorial, I smirked. My smirk widened when I heard that the imbecile security guard looking after the place for the night got pegged with the crime and had a one-way ticket to a lethal injection. It was a good week.

Then, I got another call on the 13th about some Goofy character who worked at the Disney lots. This time, the guy putting the hit on had a high-pitched voice, but at the same time, was unmistakibly a man. "This guy's trying to defect." the voice claimed. "I don't care how you do it, just take him out." I said I'd try my best and that I'd be expecting my check in the mail within three days, then I hung up.

These were my personal favorite kind of hits: the free-for-alls. I could do it any way I wanted. I went back down to the basement (which was beginning to fall apart due to a 4.9 earthquake on the 9th) and stared at my options. I wasn't going to choose a gun: I tried to mix things up as much as I could unless I was given instruction. I looked around the place until I saw the beauty: a 7-inch knife with a serrated edge and a red handle. I hadn't used it since the early 30's, so I decided to pull it out of retirement.

According to that mouse over the phone, this Goofy guy preferred the quiet life and lived somewhere secluded in Toluca Lake. It was a 50 minute drive from where I was, so I left early and headed for the guy's house. It was a strange design that I couldn't really describe to you, but it definitley had a goofy vibe to it. I tried to get in by turning the knob, which was locked, so I pulled out my knife and tried to jimmy the thing open. Success. It opened with out a hitch. I silently made my way through the living room to the staircase, which was decorated with flashy paintings and bright colors. Let me tell you, I seriously thought I was in hell.

At the end of the staircase came more paintings, and a door which was slightly ajar. I pushed it open quickly so it wouldn't creak, and the dog slept in his bed. He had on a purple striped nightcap and matching pajamas, classic look. I walked on tiptoe (which is hard to do the large boots I was wearing) over to the bed. I had better do it now before he had a chance to pummel me. I grabbed him by his floppy ears, which needless to say, woke him up. We gasped and said "Who the hell are you?" in a scared monotone. I decided not to answer, instead opting to slash his throat. The blade didn't dissapoint, and Goofy yelped in pain. His hands reached up to cover his jugular, which was leaking blood at an alarming rate. To spare him a little pain, I buried the blade in his heart. He stopped yelping and fell quiet, lying back down into his dreamless sleep.

I got my knife out of his chest, which was stuck for a second, and put it back in my pocket. I couldn't waste a knife like this. Then, and I don't know why I did this, I tucked the dead guy in. I know, it sounds strange doesn't it? I would tell you why I did it, but I don't even know. I walked out of the place and went back into my car, turning the key in the ignition.

That night, I noticed the moon and how bright it was, its craters outlined better than usual. I was actually staring at it until I almost hit a Packard while running a red light. At that point, I stopped looking and did 45 all the way home.

I had killed 121 people, and I'd be damned if I was going to jail for a driving violation.

**A/N: First, PLEASE REVIEW! Second, I'm going to take requests for the rest of the murders! So if you wanna suggest one, put it on the reviews page. And, chances are, I'll pick it.**


	3. The Bird

**A/N: Yeah, I know I'm getting off topic with the Looney Tunes, so I'm gonna start doing those again. Also, PLEASE REVIEW!**

**A/N #2: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME STRONG LANGUAGE AND GRAPHIC VIOLENCE. PLEASE TAKE DISCRETION BEFORE READING!**

Name: Woody Woodpecker

Date of Death: October 21, 1945

Weapon: Piano wire

After Goofy's body was discovered eight days after I killed him, things were surprisingly quiet. I had to find new things to do with my time. I had finished all the books in my library and I had polished all of my weapons (except for my collectible 19th century musket that I refused to wash). So, the only thing I did was listen to the radio, listening to the police try to piece the two murders together in vain.

Then, thank God, I got a call regarding one Woodrow A. Woodpecker. I got the call about a month and a half after my last. I did not know who the guy putting the hit on was, and he didn't give me any information as to who he was, or why he wanted him dead. All he said was "He's Woody Woodpecker. He lives in the hills. Make it happen." Then...silence. I was perplexed, without a doubt, but as long as I got my checks, I couldn't care less.

In the basement, I stared at my options again, and after cleaning it all, I decided I would go with a more hands-on approach today. I picked out a particularly thick piece of piano wire (my dear grandmother had used it to replace a low C on our player piano) and stuffed it into my trench-coat.

I went out into Hollywood, and it looked just as I remember it. Skanky, decrepit, and in a way, sad. I couldn't look at very long without falling into some depressing stupor. I just stared ahead, patting the length of wire in my pocket. Finally, I hit a strange gated community named "Amity Hills". I came across a security guard, this one considerably more competent that the one at the Warner Bros. lot. He asked to state my name, and my business here. Unfortunatley, he recognized me. He took off his glasses and stared straight at me. Sadly, but not too sadly, I shot the poor guy. Then, I caught myself feeling remorse. So I quickly switched back to my original facade.

I got into his house, the door was unlocked. I slunk into the living room, and I almost lept out of my shoes when I saw he was sitting at a comfortable-looking chair, looking straight at me. He snapped out of his daydream, and looked angry. "Hey!" he shouted, then jumped out of his chair, running toward me. "What the fuck?" I reached for my gun. Crap, it was in the car. I stood still as he ran toward me, paralyzed. I had never come to a situation like this. He then pecked _hard_ at my face. I yelled out, the peck marks cutting me. Then, I screamed out.

_He pecked my fucking eye out. _

It collapsed into my skull then fell out. I looked down at it, the woodpecker even stopping and staring at the eyeball on the floor. One hand to my socket, I landed a punch straight to the side of his head. He collapsed, and with an unbelievable reaction time, I pounced on him, and pulled out my piano wire. I wrapped it around his throat, and he immediatley began to turn blue. I was so angry, I couldn't believe it. I strangled him harder, and he continued to gasp for air. I wrapped harder, then...

His head came off, rolling down to the carpet off the coffee table. Blood oozed from the stump where his head ought've been. I got up off him, and with my hand still clutching my eye socket, I looked for my eye. My depth perception already began to suffer. Then, I spotted it in all its glory on the beige carpet. I picked it up, feeling sickened to pick it up. God, this was a first. I slid it into my pocket along with the piano wire. I walked (well, more shuffled) out of the house, leaving the door open, and got in my car. I tried to turn the key, but the weakness I felt overpowered me and I collapsed in the drivers seat, falling down into the leg compartment.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to go home, back to my guns and my radio. And most of all...

_I wanted my freaking eye back._

**A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!!**


	4. The Fudd

**A/N: Next is the last chapter, so enjoy and REVIEW!**

Name: Elmer Fudd

Date of Death: October 16, 1945

Weapon: Ax

I woke up in my car seven hours later, the sun just beginning to rise. To my surprise, I found that my eye still wasn't back in its rightful place. Then, when I looked out the window, in my limited sight, I saw to my dismay that police were already there, wheeling the dead bird out in a stretcher. I decided not to stick around any longer, and turned the key (my strength had returned). I sped away, looking back to see if any police had noticed me. Thank God, they only turned their heads, but none bothered to follow me. I also passed a slightly smaller entourage of police examining the old security guard.

I finally got home, and I staggered back to my door. And shoved it open, falling through the door frame. My equlibrium went to shit with my eye. Speaking of which, I stuck my eye into the vegetable crisper in my small mini-fridge. And as soon as I shut the fridge door, my phone rang. I answered the phone, and...damn it. It was another call for hit, courtesy of the same guy who put the hit on that bunny. This time, he wanted to take care of some a-hole called Elmer Fudd. I almost told him "No fucking way.". Who knew what appendage I would lose next? But, being the blood thirsty animal I was, I accepted. This time, I got an ax hanging over my fireplace. And, in a cabinet on my end table, I took an old eyepatch I had for a costume party about two years ago. I pulled it over my right eye, tying it in a tight knot. I left the house, feeling stupid that I was wearing a lousy eyepatch, but a new-found bravado that came with it. It was better than an empty socket.

I decided to take it easy this time, moving quickly and quietly for the kill. I decided to enter through his cellar, which, according to that pig, led directly to the living room. That pig...that goddamn pig. He was gonna kill me, I swear to God. How many people did he need to be killed. I used my ax to chop of the shoddy lock holding the cellar door closed. I entered, and the cellar itself was pretty ritzy. It had a special heating and air conditioning, something that I had, but had to pay a helluva lot for. I went up the creaky wood steps, at the end of which was a door. I opened it and then...

There was Elmer, carrying a double-barrelled shotgun, pointed right at my face. Fucking mortified, I covered my head with my hands. Big mistake. The two bullets moved at an unbelievable pace, potruded my right hand, carrying most of the meat and bone along with it. I screamed and stepped back, but I fell down the stairs, hitting my head on the way down. I lay limp for a second, but when I heard the creaking signaling the bastard was on his way down, I grabbed my ax. He was down the stairs, inches from me, grabbing a couple of bullets from his pocket, trying to reload. "You son of a bitch!" I yelled, and I swung my ax. It took off a big chunk of his leg, and he too screamed and crumpled to the cellar floor. I tried to stand up, but I opted to cradle my stump of my hand for just a second, then I grabbed my ax. "Open you mouth." I sneered. Apparently, he didn't need telling twice. He opened his mouth, revealing yellowish teeth. I swung for his mouth, and it severed at the halfway point.

I had killed the guy, so all was safe. But I continued to cradle my stump for about 10 minutes more, weeping just a little bit as I did it. Then, I stood up. It hurt to stand up. Then, I grabbed Fudd's shotgun, reaching into his pocket for the bullets after that. I loaded the gun, leaving the ax behind.

After that, I decided to retire from the murder-for-hire business.

There was just one other man I had to take care of...

**A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!**


	5. The Pig

**A/N: Enjoy the final chapter, and make sure to REVIEW!**

Name: Porky Pig

Date of Death: October 16, 1945

Weapon: Shotgun

I knew I couldn't drive, that was for sure. So, I ran to a phone booth down the street and called for a cab. After 5 minutes, the cab arrived. I got in, and stuck the gun in the driver's feathery ears. "Drive the car or your brains'll be all over your windshield." I snarled, and I told him to take me to the goddamn pig's estate. He oblidged, shaking all the while. He took me to a large white mansion, with the letters "PP" emblazened on the fancy iron gate that we ran through. After he pulled over right outside the door, I shot him in the head, his matter spread out everywhere, his blue had with a ribbon trailing from it obliterated. I got out of the car, opening the large wood door without stopping, my stump still tucked into my armpit.

The large mansion had a large marble staircase that went in two directions: left and right. I decided which one to take, then, going with my gut, I went left. Sure enough, the pig was in his study, sipping cognac from a fine glass. "You." I muttered, and that got the pig's attention. He turned his head nonchalantly, and just as nonchalantly, drained his cognac glass, still staring at me. "Well." he said, sounding bored. "I was expecting you, Duck." I took off my hat, revealing my dark feathers. "Why'd you decide to kill me, pig?" I asked, still angry from losing my eye and my hand in 16 hours. "I thought we were friends, and if not that, business partners." The pig stood up, walking toward me. "I wanted you dead, and all the others dead, for only one reason, 'friend.'" "You're an asshole." I said. "Oh, and you aren't?" he asked accusingly. "Actor by day, hitman by night? Give me some credit, you blood-sucking parasite. I want top billing, that's what I want." I couldn't believe what I was hearing: my friend killed his friends solely for the limelight, when he knew very well that I wanted it too?

That was the last fucking straw for me.

"Well, no sense letting you live any longer, pig." I said, turning the safety off my gun. I put my finger on the trigger, then...

The pig pounced on me, swiping at the gun and sending it a good 20 feet away. We began to fight, the pig attacking in swift, fast punches to my face. I blocked about half of them, the rest leaving outlines of his knuckles embedded in my forehead. I shoved him away, crawling quickly toward the gun. Porky grabbed my boot. "You think you can kill me?" he yelld, almost hysterically. I kicked him in the face, not answering. I reached out for the gun, and grabbed it. I stood up, ready to shoot. The pig began to charge at me, faster at an unbelievable speed. I matched him, and we collided in the middle of the room. I had the upper hand, the pig and I fighting over the gun, trying to get the gun. I shoved as hard I could on my side, and I sent the pig straight into the fireplace. He writhed and screamed with pain, his flesh baking and smelling better before my ears and nose. He was about to get out of the fire, but I fire my bullets straight into his head. He fell back into the fire, certainly dead. I moved toward him, and grabbed his bottle of cognac. It was expensive, and no doubt, very tasty. I took a swig and began to walk toward the door. Then, pausing, I took the bottle of cognac and flung it into the fireplace. The study exploded in a hellish fireball, all of his books catching fire instantly. If the pig wasn't dead already, he certainly was now. I left the house as the fire spread to the lobby when I was on my way out, and my stump began to ache again. I clutched it and began to walk home, not really knowing where home was. Still, I continued, ambling in what I considered the general direction.

Tomorrow, it would be a very good day at the studio.

"_The Daffy Duck Show"_ certainly had a nice ring to it.

_"That's All Folks!"_

**A/N: Well, I'm done. Make sure to REVIEW, and have a great night.**


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